The Black family library, while housing a respectable section on the Dark Arts, had nothing to say about Brinnan durstig. Regulus had spent the better part of two weeks scouring every book; he’d even asked Narcissa’s permission to dig through Lucius’ collection, all to no avail. He was starting to think that either Kreacher had misheard the phrase, or that the Dark Lord had lied to him. But why would he? He’d anticipated Kreacher’s death, so he wouldn’t care if the elf knew the name of the potion that killed him.

Not content with browsing Lucius’ tomes, Regulus had slinked off into the elder Malfoy’s study. When Abraxas caught the lad rifling through his library, the young man had confessed to be searching for a particular potion. Mr. Malfoy, upon hearing the name, simply shook his head and said he’d never heard of it, though he was most curious as to why it was so important. Regulus thanked him and scurried out, afraid he might let slip something best kept secret.

With no one else to turn to, he’d hesitantly approached Severus at his home, fighting the distinct mental warning that involving fellow Death Eaters could make the situation worse, which was why he’d avoided Lucius. Death Eaters’ first loyalty lay with Lord Voldemort, not with Regulus Black, and if his actions threatened the Master…well, they’d be forced to choose a side, and he highly doubted it would be his own. Frankly, he didn’t know where else to go. Sure, witches like Philana were knowledgeable, but how much did they know of Dark potions? Severus knew more than the vast majority, Light or Dark.

The Snape family and Regulus finished the evening meal and were watching television in comfortable silence. He liked it here so much better than home; he wished it were his home. He didn’t have to demonstrate pureblood insanity to be accepted, he didn’t have to do anything except be here. As the night wore on, the twins went off to bed, followed shortly by Eileen, who affectionately kissed the tops of both young men’s heads. Regulus blushed, beaming. Though he knew his own mother loved him, she never kissed him.

There was a short period of silence, broken only by the canned laughter on the telly. “Do elves and humans react the same way to potions?” asked Regulus out of the blue, staring straight ahead.

Not certain he’d heard correctly, Severus glanced over at his friend. “What about elves?”

“Do they react the same as humans to potions?” repeated Regulus, daring a sidelong glimpse.

“Not usually,” said Snape. “Their physiology is different. Why?”

“Just wondering.” He resumed his ostensibly rapt attention on the inane comedy, yet his mind worked overtime. Kreacher had drunk the awful poison and lived, but Kreacher was a house-elf. Surely the Dark Lord put up more than adequate protection around his Horcrux to ward off humans. There had to be some way around it…

“Regulus, you’re acting more strangely than usual,” observed Snape.

“Huh? How?”

“You’re not talking,” smirked the other.

Then Black did something Snape would never have predicted: he clicked off the television set. To the flabbergasted Snape he blurted, “Do you know anything about Brinnan durstig?”

If Severus hadn’t already worn the look of astonishment from his friend’s uncharacteristic display only moments ago, he might have betrayed the shock and disgust the words evoked. His stomach lurched. Regaining control of his features, he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Why do you want to know?” What was Black up to?

“I can’t tell you,” Regulus answered in the same hushed tone.

Severus paused to reflect. Black wasn’t the type to be interested in a potion for the sake of knowledge. Did he plan to use it on someone…on a house-elf, perhaps? Would he—could he—be so cruel? It wasn’t like him. It didn’t fit, none of it. “I won’t help you poison someone,” he said finally.

“So you do know it!”

“Yes,” Severus conceded, but offered no more.

There was an awkward silence while each waited for the other to break.

At last Regulus exclaimed, “Well? What can you tell me?”

“It’s a long, complicated formula that I doubt you’d have the skill to brew,” said Severus honestly. “And if you want to brew it, or have me do it for you, I sincerely question your motives.”

“I don’t want that,” Black fervently assured him. “I just need to know how it affects people.”

Intrigued and mildly disturbed without a firm reason for feeling so, Snape peered hard at him. “Why, Reg? How does this involve you?”

“I wish I could tell you, Severus, but I can’t. If the Dark Lord found out you knew…”

Knew what? Now more confused than ever, Severus bit back the desire to tell him he’d already made this potion for the Dark Lord, who would expect him to be familiar with its properties. If Regulus wasn’t planning on using it on someone or gifting it to the Master, why did he care how it affected people? What was he playing at?

Severus grimaced while pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you must know, the name means ‘burning thirst’. As this implies, it causes the victim’s insides to burn horribly; they crave water to quench it.”

“And drinking water cures it?” asked Regulus hopefully.

“No. The potion causes death in a very painful manner. There is no cure.” Severus stared hard at him, evaluating his reaction. Revulsion, fear…bewilderment?

“Oh,” Regulus said softly, then looked away. He picked up the TV control and turned it on, though it was obvious he was still quite distracted. “Anything good on?”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

It was nearly time for the moon to come out…the full moon. Four ragged men hunkered down in the bushes around back of a Muggle Unitarian Church, occasionally glancing up into the sky. They felt the pull in their blood, pounding in their ears, so close they could taste it, and they looked forward to it, to the lust roaring through their bodies as they became the animals that felt no pity, no remorse, nothing but pure satisfaction.

On either side of the group sat a Death Eater, neither of whom was particularly delighted to be here with werewolves. They’d prefer a straight-out wizard attack, which was easy and to the point, and didn’t include these foul-smelling beasts. Yet, if the Master demanded they be here to lead the raid, who were they to argue? It was an honor, really, to be in charge of training these savages to work for the Dark Lord.

Dolohov got to his feet, adjusting his mask. “Benton, go in that way. I’ll go in the opposite side. You two, come with me. The rest with him.”

They flanked the small church, where inside a ladies’ quilting meeting was being held. Since Dolohov seriously doubted he’d be able to sway the men once they’d become werewolves, he thought it prudent to get them into position before the fact—aim them at the enemy and hope for the best, as it were.

Inch by inch Dolohov slid open a window, carelessly left unlocked, though a simple spell would have fixed that tiny snag. He urged the men inside, ordering them to crouch down and wait behind a pile of folded blankets and quilts for the upcoming sale. He’d wait outside, thank you very much. If anyone managed to escape, he’d kill her there. On the other side of the small building, Benton had charmed open the door lock to allow the men to position themselves on the opposite side of the circle of five women chatting blithely on, unaware of the danger in their midst.

Dolohov glanced at his pocket watch. A few Avada Kedavras would have finished off the old hens and he could’ve been on his way back to the Master. He didn’t understand the purpose of using mindless beasts when wizards were perfectly capable of such a raid, and better, if you asked him. These were Muggles, for crying out loud, it wasn’t as if they were witches who could at least put up a decent fight! Werewolves were…well, superfluous, really. They served no purpose at all unless one was going for a messy, gory bloodbath for dramatic effect, and Death Eaters were more than able to provide such a spectacle. In truth, like the rest of the Death Eaters, he resented having these creatures included in their group. It was demoralizing. Werewolves belonged in the forest feeding on rats, not working beside purebloods!

He’d have continued his inward rant had he not noticed the men changing, twisting, tearing off their robes as they morphed into the appalling brutes. He ducked down behind the windowsill, only the top of his mask and eyes showing. The Silencing Charm thrown around the church still allowed him to hear everything within. The screams he could do without, it was worse than…okay, maybe not worse than Death Eater raids, but the growling and tearing flesh was new. He actually rather liked screams when he was the one inciting them.

True to his expectations, the four werewolves made short work of the cluster of women in a frenzied attack that left their parts scattered over the floor, their blood soaking into the quilts they were working on and running down the spattered walls. If the Master was going for ‘gross’ as a statement, he’d succeeded.

“Benton!” Dolohov hissed, hoping not to draw the notice of the savages gnawing at the dismembered corpses. Where the hell had he gone? “Ben—” The name caught in his throat. One of the werewolves was holding up an arm to chew—a hairy arm attached to a man’s hand, and the arm had a skull emblazoned on it, with a snake winding its way out the mouth.

“Oh, shit!” Dolohov Disapparated.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“So you left him there?” demanded Voldemort to the man kneeling at his feet.

“Yes, my Lord. He’s dead, and those creatures you sent with us killed him.”

The Dark Lord paused to contemplate whether punishment should be light, in consideration of the fact that he hadn’t taught his Death Eaters the spell to kill the werewolves, and they were basically helpless. Teaching them would have effectively permitted them to eliminate the threat when the beasts attacked, causing Greyback to withdraw his support, and while his support wasn’t especially helpful just now, the knowledge spread abroad that werewolves were aligned with the dark wizard was a wonderful propaganda tool. This mission served as a method of striking terror in the wizarding world much more than in the Muggle world.

At last he settled on a hard kick to the stomach, doubling Dolohov over so his forehead rested on the ground in front of his knees. “Go back and get his wand and whatever you can of his body.”

“Yes, Master,” Dolohov croaked. “But the werewolves…”

“Have probably gone looking for more fun by now. If not, I trust you’ll figure out a way.”

“Yes, my Lord.” He Apparated back to the church, still hunched over in pain, and looked in the window. Damn it, they were still there! “Accio wand.”

The wand picked itself off the floor and flew into his hand. He tucked it into his robe. Using his own wand, he levitated a body in what appeared to be black robes; with all the blood it was difficult to say. As it got closer he could see it was indeed Benton, ripped and slashed, mutilated…but Benton. The werewolves gorging themselves on women-flesh seemed fairly uninterested in the body easing itself out the window, followed shortly by a half-eaten arm and a shoe, foot still lodged inside.

Fighting a wave of nausea he never would have experienced had this been an enemy, Dolohov stacked the arm and foot on Benton’s chest, wrapped them in his robe, took hold of the body, and Disapparated.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The shaggy black dog padded out of the bright sunlight into the overshadowed woods, to the designated spot as in times when he and Regulus were on better terms. Only the odd wording, the urgency of the owled note asking him here had prompted him to come at all.

Seconds later he shifted into his true form. “Hey, little brother.”

“Hi, Sirius,” answered the other quietly. He sat on a tree stump, slumped over, head resting on his knees as if he hadn’t the energy to sit up.

Sirius regarded him closely. This wasn’t like his brother, who was habitually peppy and pleasant and smiling, unless riled. He certainly didn’t look angry. “Is something wrong?”

“I…I don’t…yes, I think so,” Regulus hedged, raising troubled eyes to his brother. “I don’t know where else to go. I thought maybe you could help.”

“Do you need money? Are Mum and Dad on your back?”

“No.” Regulus shook his head and sighed heavily. “I can’t talk to the other Death Eaters. They’d kill me if they knew I had disloyal thoughts, or turn me over to the Dark Lord.”

Disloyal thoughts? Had the boy finally come to his senses? “So you’re ready to quit those scumbags? That’s great!”

The younger gave a sad smile. “It’s not that easy. “If I quit, they’ll hound me down and murder me. Anyway, there’s something else. Lord Voldemort created a thing he calls a ‘Horcrux’, an object that he put part of his soul into so even if he dies, he’ll live on.”

“He told you that?” asked Sirius, disbelieving. “What a crock! That old bastard will say anything and expect you all to believe it!”

Becoming animated, Regulus said, “Sirius, I think I know what it is! He took Kreacher to a cave with some island—anyway, he almost killed Kreacher, he tried to in order to protect the Horcrux’s location.”

“Too bad he failed,” mumbled Sirius, rolling his eyes.

“You’re an arsehole! Nobody deserves that, and I happen to like Kreacher!”

“Sorry, it was a joke,” Sirius protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Reg shrugged. No time for fighting. “I need to destroy the Horcrux, Sirius. That way, Voldemort will be mortal again.”

“Reg, I’m telling you, he only said all that to scare you guys into following him. No one would dare revolt if they thought he’d be back to get them, right? People can’t divide their souls.”

“It’s Dark Magic of the worst kind, Sirius, and I do believe him. I was hoping you’d know a way to destroy it,” said Regulus, as the awful realization hit that he was indeed alone in this quest. Maybe it was better that way, fewer people risking their lives. “That’s alright, it was dumb of me to bring it up.”

“I never thought you were dumb, just gullible and easily led,” answered Sirius. “If you want to be free of that lot, come to us and Dumbledore will help you hide.”

His brother looked at him as though he were mad. “Why would he help me? I’m his enemy.”

“Not if you renounce all that rubbish.”

Regulus sighed again and stood up. “I’ll think about it. I have a lot of thinking to do…” He trailed off as he looked at his brother. “I should go.”

“See you, Reg. Maybe soon?”

Regulus smiled again in that sad, haunting way. “Good-bye, Sirius.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“There you are!”

The voice was so sudden, from nowhere he could see, startling Lucius and setting him on guard, his wand already in hand as he spun around looking for the speaker.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Mateo, dropping down from the high rafter beams of the porch. He landed a few meters away, grinning. “I don’t intend to attack you.”

“What are you doing here?” The wand hadn’t budged, and was aimed directly at the vampire’s chest.

Mateo clucked his tongue while shaking his head. “I thought someone of your upbringing would demonstrate better manners.”

Lucius’ stomach flipped as a horrible thought raced through his mind. Were there others here? Had they gotten into the house? He made a lunge for the door while holding his wand steady. Heart racing, he threw open the heavy wooden slab, dashed inside, and slammed it hard.

“Master Lucius,” Sisidy greeted, trotting up to take his cloak.

“Sisidy, is Narcissa alright? And my father?”

“Yes, Master Lucius,” she squeaked with a confused expression.

“Are you sure? Go check and come right back.” Lucius paced the foyer anxiously, berating himself for not thinking to put up anti-vampire spells, if indeed such things existed. Hell, if he put up a spell for everything that might come into the house, the manor would be so charmed they wouldn’t be able to safely live there. Only seconds later the elf reappeared, mirroring his anxiety.

“They is fine, Master Lucius. Is something wrong? Is you sick?”

“Has anyone else been in the house?” he asked, ignoring her fussing over him.

“No, Master Lucius. Is my Master well?” Her already wrinkled skin puckered more into a worried frown.

Permitting himself to breathe again, he relaxed somewhat as he lowered the wand. “I’m fine. I’ll be on the porch for a bit. If I don’t come in soon, check on me.”

“As you wish, Master Lucius.” Her cheek rubbed against his leg in her typical show of affection. “Sisidy does anything for Master.”

Lucius petted her head, opened the door once more, and slipped outside. The sangrista hadn’t moved, though now he stood there with arms crossed, wearing an injured expression. With his keen sense of hearing, he’d listened to the whole conversation and found it less than flattering.

“If you’d asked me, I’d have told you I was alone and that I hadn’t touched your family,” Mateo stated.

“And of course I’d be honor-bound to believe you,” Lucius drawled mockingly. “Why are you here? Has Buitrago changed his mind?”

“No, nothing so radical. I just wanted to talk to you.” He paced over a few steps to lower himself into one of the wicker chairs on the porch. He gestured with one hand for Lucius to join him.

At first hesitating, Lucius walked over and sat down, his countenance betraying nothing. “And what might a vampire have to say that I’d be interested in hearing?”

“You are a friendly one, aren’t you?” Mateo queried with more than a little sarcasm to match Lucius’ tone. “I’ve been here before. No, I don’t mean the time I came with Yadiro. I mean before you were born.”

Alright, Lucius was interested, grudgingly so. He sat up a little straighter in his chair. “When?”

“Several times, actually. The earliest was around, oh…” He glanced up into nothingness, tapping his fingers lightly on the arm of the chair. “1717, I believe, was my first visit. I met your ancestor, Darius Malfoy. His wife was pregnant with his heir.”

Lucius felt the blood running from his cheeks. He’d wanted to believe the vampire was making the whole thing up in some bid for attention or who knew why, but Lucius knew the Malfoy genealogy tree by heart, he’d had to learn it as a child. Darius Malfoy produced his heir in the year 1717. How could Mateo know that unless he’d really been here? Or was it something more subtle? Had he studied the tree, and if so, for what purpose? Was this vampire making some cloaked reference to Narcissa when he mentioned the pregnant wife? This was just too strange, too much of a coincidence. In a gruff voice he said, “What is your point?”

“No point, really. We got on well, I visited him on and off until he died, although he asked that I stay away from his son.” He smiled to himself. “Seems to run in the family, this aversion to me. Darius was a nice bloke, unlike your grandfather. Uh! He was a bastard and a half!”

Again, how could Mateo know that about his grandfather? It was true, from all accounts of his father. Forgetting he wanted this ‘person’ gone, Lucius asked in dismay, “You met my grandfather?”

“Oh, yes. Horatio was a young man at the time, like you. He ordered me off the property. Pompous arse,” Mateo muttered.

“Are you calling me a pompous arse?” demanded Lucius.

The sangrista laughed very quietly as if he held a private joke, his exposed fangs reminding Lucius this was no ordinary visitor. “I said your grandfather was. I don’t know you well enough to make that assertion.” He smirked over at Malfoy.

Lucius’ brows dipped slightly, his grey eyes turning cold. “You’re not endearing yourself to me. Why did you come here—not just today, but to meet my grandfather and Darius? What is your obsession with my family?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” answered Mateo, leaning back and peering at the other with clear blue eyes.

“Try me.”

Mateo gave a little shrug and let out a breath. “After meeting Horatio, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to come back, but then you showed up in Spain. I got curious. As I’m sure you weren’t aware, I come from a very prominent family myself. Didn’t you wonder when Yadiro said I prefer not to use a surname?”

“Not particularly.”

“Of course not,” Mateo growled, grimacing while attempting to smile. What was it with these Malfoys and their snooty attitudes? He got up and strolled to the edge of the porch, surveying the enormous front lawn. “You live your perfect life; why would you spare a thought for anyone else?”

By now Lucius had to twist around to see Mateo, and he most definitely didn’t like the idea of this vampire being out of sight. He got up to face him, but Mateo continued his contemplation of the yard, paying Lucius no heed. “Oh, do enlighten me on this elusive secret of your name,” Lucius replied sarcastically, vaguely intrigued but not wishing to show it.

Mateo ran a hand over his cropped blond hair. He didn’t look back at Lucius, he didn’t need to see his expression. “It’s Malfoy.” He leapt into the night air and flew off.